by Nace Phlaux
Oh, don’t be doing nothing Miss Kim’s doing with breaks. The hourlies get 30 minutes. Lunch, smoke breaks, walks around the building, whatevs. All comes outta that. Since we temps, they got nothing stopping them from booting us whenever they feel like, and I’ve seen more than one go for messing with the break times. The only thing they can’t do jack about is the bathroom, and you’ll see people abusing that. One of my kids Stew is always in there like he had bad fish. But you go in there and it’s all tickticktickticktick with the cell phone. Like I’m too stupid to know what you doing.
Meetings’re keeping me in my cube all day, so no lunch. If you go, avoid the break room at 1:30. That’s when my kids eat, and they get loud. I got a folder filled with complaints from other team leads but wth am I gonna do?
You tell Christy to get you in here with me? Have to do some favors? Flowers, chocolates, pics of yourself? Maybe do a little dance. Or you just show up here random?
Thanks,
Manny Quinn
Assoc. Mgr – Physician Validation
t: +1 (215) 680-3747
41 University Dr.
Newtown, PA 18940
www.episync.biz
Please consider the environment before printing this email.
Candy 2
1526 Marsha
Yardley, PA 19067
January 27, 2013
Dear Dorothea,
Honey, call me when you get this letter. I tried your number again when I got home from mass, and a nice man answered with an Indian accent and told me I had the wrong number. I’m from the yesteryear where you didn’t have a cell phone to hold all your friends’ numbers. The only phone book I ever needed sat on top of my shoulders my whole life. So I know I’m dialing the right number, but maybe you’ve changed yours without telling me. I have my cell on me, along with what my friend calls a “burner,” but I don’t think there’s any point in giving out the number for that.
I hope you can understand my handwriting. I may have made an early afternoon cocktail when I got back to the hotel. I may have had a couple. It’s all this time I’ve spent at the hotel. On vacation without an itinerary, what’s there to do but drink at the bar, am I right? And no one’s here to scold me. Or ask me to do anything. Or talk to me. It’s a mixed blessing, really. So I’m making the most of the situation.
The bar at the hotel? Oh, you should see it. The boys there didn’t know what to do with an old hag like me. The one night, they pushed on the Blue Moon, and when I told them I thought it tasted like stale yak pee, they bent over backwards to accommodate me. They poured their best happy hour cocktails, thinking I’d be won over by bottom shelf tequila. After a couple nights, they knew I liked my whiskey strong and I tipped well enough to earn them strong.
But the whole reason I’m even here… Well, a few days ago, Helyne and I went shopping with the idea that we’d make one of her favorite vegetarian meals for the family that evening. On the way to the store, she pulled out a new hand cream she got from that Ipsy subscription box thing. The subscription had been her papa’s Christmas gift, she told me, and offered me some of the lotion.
Well, my skin’s always dry, especially in the winter and definitely when I’m working at Lenox. There were times I’d dried up so bad, my skin cracked and bled on the merchandise I handled. I went back and repackaged the ornaments, of course. I’m no Jesus, and no one needs my blood, especially on their Christmas balls.
She gave me a dollop of the cream, but God bless her, she didn’t warn me how oily it was. My hands slipped as I made a turn, and the van nicked the bumper of a kid’s azure bubble of a car. We pulled over, and after I checked on Helyne, everyone got out of the vehicles and compared the damage. Well, I compared the damage while the boy, looking like he just won his license out of a Cracker Jack box and wearing shorts with a hoodie, kept his eyes on Helyne, repeatedly asking if she was hurt.
The kid, being a kid, was reluctant to trade insurance information since, as he put it, “Not even a scratch there, ma’am. Maybe some dirt scraped off. If anything, you can charge me for cleaning your bumper.” Ma’am. Oy vey. “And they call her a name that they never get right,” you know? We decided not to take up any more of each other’s time, and Helyne and I sat in the car as he drove off.
As soon as he headed out, I had myself a moment thanks to Jerry. He promised, Dot, he promised to put on a wheel cover. I’d pestered him about it since summer. The steering wheel gets cold this time of year, and it gets covered in sweat once it warms up around here. And what did he do? Nothing. Too busy with whatever gutter trash he’s found. Carol Lee her name is, but I’ll get to that. I broke down, and poor Helyne comforted me. I didn’t tell her what exactly was going on, but I admitted Jer and I were having problems. “Please don’t tell the boys,” I said to her.
We went and stopped at a Starbucks at her insistence. “You need a peppermint mocha,” she said. “Full fat. Covered in whip. Your hips may hate you later, but your heart needs it, Mrs. D.” She had this cute crocheted hat on with a big wooden button woven into it, and she just looked so cute and genuine and sweet. Sometimes I wish I had a girl like you did, but maybe things’ll work out with her and Dommy, and I’ll get the experience for myself. But anyway, that’s how I got hooked on the peppermint mochas for the rest of the season. They’re available year-round, but the flavor sums up the season for me and stays there. Or maybe I’ll treat myself to an iced one over the summer. We’ll see. But definitely with the skinny variety. I can’t take too much of that whole milk.
So I told you I signed up for the temp agency over here, right? The next day or so, I got this phone call while Jer was at work. The kids were all at school, and I was working on the house when the phone rang and someone asked for a Carol Lee. I just got so sick to my stomach, Dottie, thinking that was her name. That slut probably rented a room with his and her information, and here was someone from the hotel calling to ask her about soiled panties she’d left behind.
I don’t remember what I said or even whether the caller was a man or a woman, but I was foaming at the mouth and screaming Lord knows what. Wasn’t my best moment, to be honest. But I came out of the red cloud enshrouding my head and realized the caller had already hung up. What Helyne said came to mind, so I took a ride for another peppermint mocha.
On the ride over and even while I stood in line, waves of anger and betrayal kept overcoming me, and I felt like the barista was staring at me after I let out a sigh. I felt a sob coming and turned around to avoid the barista’s judging eyes. After I regained my composure, someone behind me said my full name, and I looked back to find this young girl in a terrible wig that made her look like Hermione from the first Harry Potter. (The boys used to love those movies before they got too cool.) “Are you all right, Candice?”
I must’ve looked confused because she gave me a smile and said, “I work at J & J, remember? We met the other day? My name’s Christy?”
“I’m sorry, Christy, but it’s been a long day and it’s barely noon,” I told her.
“Would you like to sit with me for a few moments? I’m on my lunch break, and you look like you could use a friend.”
Three hours later and we were still sitting in that Starbucks. All the feelings I’d been holding in about Jer and this Carol Lee poured out. She sympathized, she said. Her husband and her mother had been killed in a car accident. That poor girl, can you imagine? All my complaints about Jer, but at least he’s still breathing. But, bless her, she sat there and listened to my complaints and grievances. At one point, she called into work and told them there was a family emergency preventing her from returning from lunch. They were kind enough to wish her family well.
“I know it’s crazy and...vrt-vrt-vrt,” she said and made this hand motion by her head like she was crazy. “But I have a comp over at the Sheraton for a while. A friend owed me and paid me back with it. But since I live alone and practically down the street, I never use it. How would you like it? Get away from it all for a
few days. No fees and it does me a favor by getting me off the hook with my friend, you know what I mean?”
I wasn’t sure, especially coming from someone I’d just met a few hours earlier. But then she said, “You know how the rest of the day’s going to go: I’ll give you my card, you’ll go home, you’ll find something your husband did today offensive, and you’ll give me a call. It’s the classic romcom storyline. But it’s also filler. Save yourself some time, and just say ‘yes.’” My bag was packed within an hour.
The weekends at our house are usually a fend-for-yourself arrangement. Someone invariably orders a pizza, and whoever’s around the house will chip in. Vegetables will be put on half of one if Helyne’s around, but it’s otherwise a pile of meat on cheese. Danny has a habit of getting a box of bacon cheesesticks from Papa John’s and munching on those for the rest of the weekend. It’s nasty, but he’s got a steel stomach, that one. Jer, if he wasn’t planning on seeing his streetwalker, would be watching the playoffs. No one would miss me for a couple days.
Cars packed the driveway, and a ruckus came from the living room downstairs when I got inside. I packed a bag of a couple days’ worth of clothing and travel soaps and such and got out the door without anyone even noticing I was there. I contemplated writing a note, but what’s there to even say? “Sorry your father forgot who he really loves. Be back soon. Smooches, Candy”?
Naturally, as I’m standing in line to check into the hotel, I hear my name being called, and I turned around to see Jill, a mother of a girl Dommy used to see when he still worked at Sesame Place. Last summer he worked deliveries for what was supposed to be a Russian place that made goal posts. Jer made fun of him the whole time, seeing him deliver these little boxes to random warehouses around the county. “How’s the drug muling lately, Dom?”
Part of the reason he left may’ve been Jill’s daughter. The twins took positions at the park for the first time, and they’d constantly come back with messages from the girl for Dom. Poor girl was downright obsessed, it seemed. Danny said something to her, something like he was seeing someone else, and all the messages stopped. But I knew the family from craft fairs I helped set up over at the school, and I was grateful when nothing about the kids was said during the last fair before Christmas.
“Candice Susan Dellaquilla, what’re you doing here of all places?” She gave me a hug, and her skeletal frame felt sickly in my arms. Her hair and resting face screamed, “Can I see your manager?”
“Oh, you know,” I said, but she continued to give that expectant look. “Jerry’s out of town on business, you know, and the kids are living their own lives nowadays. So I thought I’d take the opportunity to have a staycation.”
“How cute. I took a bit of a domestic vacation myself the other week out to a quaint B&B in Lancaster.” The woman gestures wildly as she talks, and her gaudy faux jewelry jangles with each wave of her hand. “But this week, we’re replacing our home’s carpets, so...” Jangle, jangle, jangle. “Here we are.” Her husband gave a polite wave as their daughter stood to the side of the lobby, typing incessantly into her cell phone, and their young boy helped as best he could with the smaller of the bags. “How’s Jerry doing?”
Something about the question rubbed ne the wrong way. She didn’t want to know about the boys or the family in general. Specifically Jerry. Before I could say something salty, a voice came from the counter asking for Ms. Wight. Christy had warned me she’d put the room in her name, but it still took a couple calls for it before I realized that was for me. Once I got my key, I spun around to see Jill staring me down, probably because they didn’t say Dellaquilla. I gave her a polite wave goodbye, which I regretted the moment I did it. It must’ve taken a moment to regain her composure, but once she did, she waved vigorously and shouted, “Call me, Candy! We’ll do lunch!” I could hear the jangling echo as the elevator took me to my room.
Christy had the hotel leave me a welcome basket in the room with high-end Bath & Body Works lotions and body washes. Inside was another cell phone with a note attached saying “In case you need me” and Christy as the only saved contact. By the time I unpacked and finished a relaxing soak in the bathtub, it looked like a good time for dinner. This time of year, where everything’s dark by 4:30, supper comes earlier and earlier, I swear. Down in the lounge, a few tables had some couples and a family looking around awkwardly, but a bunch of regulars sat at the bar watching the TVs, most of which played the sports channels.
I joined the crowd at the bar—better to feel alone in the crowd than to stand out like a sore thumb at a table by myself. A couple Long Island iced teas and a meatball sub later, and I was joining in the conversations about the local high school teams. As if the universe knew I was getting too comfortable, the news came on the TV about a missing teen on the other side of the city. My hands immediately reached for my cell, but I stopped myself. It was a gang-related crime, I reminded myself. The boys would be fine. And gangs in Bucks County? Well, sillier things have happened, I guess. It is what it is.
“It’s the heat.” A fair chunk of the regulars had left without me noticing, but this gentleman beside me randomly started speaking to me. “Normally the cold would prevent crime. Who wants to kill in the snow?” He was lanky with glasses, probably close to my age, and drinking something neat. “Nothing to worry about. I see you searching for your phone. Worried about someone close, I assume.”
He took an orchestrated sip of his drink without looking at me once. “But you have to consider the statistical conspiracy, of course. Both sides want the perception to be that crime’s ridiculous. The right want to continue their war on drugs, but the left want to continue the war on firearms, so the fallacy of rising crime sates them both.” The guy was in a thick coat, but his hands and neck looked wiry like the glasses he wore over little beady eyes. Everything about him made me want to push him away, but what was I to do?
“Staying in the hotel tonight?” I asked, more so for my safety than anything else.
He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Just here for the Mad Elf. No one knows it’s on tap here, so it stays longer. Out everywhere else. Not to mention,” he said, pausing as someone from the kitchen staff come out with a plate, setting it on the bar in front of the stranger. “The veal parm. Have you tried it here? Best in town. Here.” He reached over the bar, causing the bartender at the other end to watch him out of the corner of her eye, and dropped an appetizer plate and utensils wrapped in a napkin near me before slicing off a chunk of his dinner and sharing it with me.
If I hadn’t watched the whole scene, I never would’ve accepted. But unless he was David Copperfield in disguise, I don’t think he could’ve snuck anything into the food. So I took a bite. And mercy, Dorothea, I’m glad I did. He wasn’t kidding about how good the veal was. The next time we meet around here, I’ll take you over there so you can find out for yourself. But oh my my. I guess I made a face or a happy noise, because suddenly he was smiling, and his grin completely changed his image. Now he was a nice guy, an older gentleman in a bar who’d found another older companion to share dinner with.
When I asked him his name, he said, “Let’s go with Carl Frahm tonight. And you?” I answered honestly, but he laughed. “You’re really sticking to that? C’mon. We’re all strangers here. Have some fun.”
After thinking about it for a while, I told him, “Rita Rizzo. That good enough for you, Miss Lauper?”
We sat in the lounge for hours. It was the first time I’d talked to a stranger that didn’t involve work, my husband, or the kids. We could talk about anything. I could have an opinion. I could say my kids can be pains in the rump, and he didn’t blink an eye. We wound up turning off the lights, finally leaving at the insistence of one of the waitstaff. I think I thanked him for a lovely evening, but the end of the night is a bit hazy.
The next morning, I had the strongest hangover since I was a kid. Room service brought me pancakes but didn’t have anything fancier than coffee with creamer. The men
u mentioned they had a spa where I could get a pedi, so I splurged a bit and enjoyed myself. The less time I spent running my usual routine, the better I felt. And when evening rolled around, I strolled down to the lounge again, part of me hoping my stranger might be there again.
He was there, reading the Courier Times, when I arrived. “Don’t you work at this place? Lenox? I thought you mentioned it last night. Know this guy? Mike Kressler?”
The name didn’t immediately ring a bell, but as we talked about our day and what to order for dinner, it finally clicked. “Oh, he worked at the factory for about a week before he got fired. Real close with Eric Milnes. We knew him as Mikey, but they found him stealing a ton of ornaments. There were rumors about Milnes, though. Everyone seemed to work with him at one point or another. One of those guys who makes the rounds, I guess. But he had a bad rep, so once Mikey was gone, they guessed Milnes was involved too.”
“Paper says he killed himself. Kressler, that is. There’s going to be a beef and beer in his family’s honor. Think you’ll go?”
I told him no, there’d be no reason for me to go. None of us were that social in the week or so Mikey was at the factory, and I had to go into a frugal mode in case I needed to file for a divorce.
Our food came out, and as we ate, he said, “So who should we be tonight?”
I took a long swig of the Long Island iced tea I’d ordered and thought. The liquor hit me a moment later, and a dark thought came to mind. “I’ll be Carol Lee. And you?”
He was taking a bite of his dinner when I responded, and as he swallowed, something made him go into a long and powerful series of coughs. When they finally stopped, he said, “You know, I feel like being us tonight. So I’ll be Richter, and you’ll be, what?”
